


Respite

by kealin



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hawke is smitten, M/M, elves playing lil games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kealin/pseuds/kealin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time and place, Hawke, time and place."</p>
<p>In which Fenris and Merrill partake in a little game. Short ficlet taking place after the end of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea in my head for months it seems. I just really want some sort of interaction between Merrill and Fenris that doesn’t always end up with Fenris being a complete ass to Merrill. Uh, timeline, maybe some time after the game while they are on the run and before everyone leaves Hawke? This is completely self indulgent, I’m not gonna deny it. Beautifully beta’d by Faikitty <3

“Stop,” Fenris breathed, lowering his hands as he frowned at Merrill. “You are doing it wrong. Once more, this time without talking.”

“But how will I know I’m doing it correctly, then?” Merrill inquired, sitting back as she stared at the red strings that were wrapped tightly around Fenris’ fingers.

Both of them were seated on the floor, legs tucked under them as Fenris tried to teach the Dalish a game he had slowly recalled playing with Varania when they were younger. It had seemed easy enough in his mind, although the attempts he had tried so far with Merrill proved otherwise.

Perhaps he had the steps all wrong; his memories of those times were still foggy at best. He could only catch glimpses of Varania seated in the same fashion as he was—smiling as his hands reached out, fingers slipping beside his sister’s before she pulled her hand away, leaving him to marvel at the butterfly twined around his fingers as he made it flap its wings.

Of course, the strings that were wrapped around his fingers at the moment did not take form of a butterfly at all. It was… shapeless, just a line of interloping threads that held no form or reason. Fenris felt his mouth twist in displeasure, brows drawing in tight with growing frustration. He did not know why he had bothered with it, really—why he had bothered to call Merrill to him to do something in order to recall a memory that did not really belong to him anymore.

Fisting his hands, Fenris let out a huff of breath, moving to stand as he mumbled, “Forget it. It was a foolish idea, nothing more—“

“Oh, oh no!” Merrill interjected quickly, stopping Fenris from standing as she laid her hands above his, causing him to pause and look at her. “Let’s continue! I really would like to. I mean—that is, I’m sure I’ll catch on to it quickly! Don’t get up.”

Past interactions with Merrill had more than proved nothing friendly ever came about with their encounters. It was not for Hawke’s sake that Fenris had begun to attempt to be more cordial with her. It was said that bonds formed in the most trying of times between traveling companions, and ever since the fall of Kirkwall… well…

Hawke’s friends were few, and Merrill had proved her loyalty enough for Fenris to at least try to look at her in a different light.

Quietly, still holding a sour expression, Fenris dutifully sat back down, eyes moving from the elf before him to his hands as Merrill did the same. Patiently, he watched as she began to pluck and pick at the strings—neither of them truly knowing what they were doing, but Merrill seeming determined enough to make it something that was simply theirs.

Unbeknownst to the elves was their silent observer, watching with quiet affection and a warm smile on his face at the almost peaceful scene before him.

“Hawke.” Varric’s voice reached his ears, chiding him. “You look absolutely revolting.”

Laughing softly, Hawke turned his eyes from Merrill and Fenris to the dwarf. “Do I?”

“You should be wearing the look of a haunted and hunted man, not a fool in love. Time and place, Hawke, time and place.” Varric reminded him despite the grin on his face.

“I don’t know,” Hawke replied, looking back at the elves with an affectionate smile. “This seems to be the perfect time and place to me.”


End file.
